On moonday morning, Giordano, Serena and I drove into the Italian-er-than-Thou little town down the hill from our home, to submit our paperwork, in hopes of being awarded a date for marriage. Legions of butterflies messed about inside me for myriad reasons. Reading bureaucratically persuaded websites is *not* my forte, so I wondered if we had all the documents required. One thing they HAD clarified at the US Consulate in Rome, when we visited a couple weeks ago (to obtain my sworn statement of single status), was that we must marry before my visa expires. Which happens at the end of this month. Zoiks!

Our pilgrimage to the Wizard of Holy Matrimony required Giordano to miss a morning of work. These days he is in hot and heavy preparation for a massive olive harvest. His head is nowhere above water in the way of tasks he must accomplish. Come to think of it, I’m not sure I’ve ever encountered someone with so many dangling, disperate obligations. My mom at the end of her life, perhaps…

But the point is, the unwieldy pile of my Husband-To-Be’s searing tasks sure brings out some brassy notes in the man. He already tends toward the anxious shades of the rainbow. As I drove our little white Fiat, “Penis Ray-Ray” along the twisty, one way streets into the center of the village, he spit aggressive, critical directions at me. I don’t have much tolerance for this facet of him. As an empath, I too quickly get inflamed and agitated, and perfectly awesome moments are spoiled by excessive heat and unkindness.

We parked down a hill from the “Common”, and I held Serena’s hand as she made her way up the steep, cobblestone road. Apparently we were not fast enough for Giordano and in his broken five year old fashion, he let us know (nagging, crabby mumbling, slicing insults). In my world, we had plenty of time, as it wasn’t even nine o’clock (when the office opened). I was jazzed that Serena wanted to walk alone, as she often prefers, like a lazy, cumbrous Pygmy Queen, to be carried.

I have a lot to say still, so I’m gonna pick up the pace. But what you must know, is that by the time we arrived in the stale-cigarette-scented foyer outside the matrimonial office, Giordano and I were not on speaking terms. When the disarmingly kind and casual italian lady opened her pearly gate for us, we were like two repelled magnets. I wouldn’t even look at him.

We shelled out our paperwork and I was half surprised, half relieved, half mortified to discover that we had all we needed, and would be able to secure a wedding day. Whoa. We asked for October 28th. Two days before my visa expires. According to my astrologically savvy friend Anitra, that is the smoothest, most palatable day available to us, given our restricted timeline. They were reticent to work on a Sunday. But a hundred euros and a relaxed sphincter later, they agreed.

We stepped back out onto the street transformed.

That sentence gets to be its own paragraph, because it definitely stands alone. I am not quite sure of the “behind the scenes” energetics of the matter…. But it was a palpable shift to have a wedding date and time. Thankfully, we were both softened. We stepped into an adjacent bar, and Giordano ordered us cappuccinos. I can’t get right with the culture of drinking such heavenliness standing up, in less that three seconds. I savored spoonfuls of thick, decadent foam, while Giordano teased me for taking my time.

And for my next splendid, death-defying act, ladies and gentlemen, I shall bare my messy insides for you all to gawk at and secretly relate to.

I never imagined that getting married would be strewn with such a wild swizzle of unruly emotions. Repulsion, excitement, love, powerlessness, curiosity, fear, turn-on…

From my insider’s view, I can clearly see how much collective meaning “We” place on marriage. It means “forever”. It means “so in love”. “Happily ever after”. “The One”.

It means none of that for me. It’s more like, I am just doing what needs to be done to move forward on my cryptic Path through the billowing fields of Enlightenment. I have been groping to come to terms with it all.

Would I marry Giordano if I was financially free? Probably not. I am marrying him as a single mom who needs help, and he is the flawed Angel that God sent me. I feel a primal fear in telling it so straight. But as a writer, slicing straight into unflattering truths is the verdant river valley of good writing.

And honestly, no matter how flawed my Angel is, my bottom line is that he supports me in showing up on the page and singing out the unfiltered mess of my Existence. Which is what I live for. And I guess that’s the heart of the matter for me. My soon-to-be-Husband understands and supports my dharma. Even if it means that he occasionally gets chewed up and spit out on the page. He may act like a wounded little boy too often. But holding space for me to be my fullest expression as a writer, even at his occasional “expense”, is a powerful stand to take.

The density of my Life Material these days often feels unbearable. Okaaay, that was dramatic. I have it great, in so many ways. But as a woman who aspires to sovereignty and full-throttle empowerment, this is a very confronting life to be living. I struggle to find a powerful place to stand. I feel small in so many ways these days. Living in a foreign country where I don’t speak the language… Having few friends to commune with. Marrying a man who I am constantly having to teach and train and tolerate.

I can never say that last bit without following it up by how loving he is. Giordano is so genuinely invested in my (and Serena’s) happiness, delight and wellbeing. For example, he went way the fuck out of his way yesterday to ask his Baby Mama if we could stay in her rental apartment in Assisi next weekend, so that I could partake in a yoga festival happening right across the street. While he sweats and bleeds and cries, picking thousands of olives to press into oil…

I guess the moral of this story is that on the INside, it occurs like all I can do is surrender to my Path. I have written recently about my perceived lack of choice in the matter of my life. Like I’m just stepping into what splays open before me, with as much dignity, joy and willingness as I can muster. Squeeze as much Trust out of my nearly-empty toothpaste tube as humanly possible.

Trusting that all this is right. Trusting that this is all Grace. Trusting that this is exactly what I need to evolve. Trusting that these are the perfect conditions for me to blossom open AS LOVE and embody the Master that I AM. Living in said trust is a tall order, as my life is NOT unfolding as I imagined it would. Not that I ever fully imagined my unfolding… But life as I know it has bled way outside the lines of Collective Conditioning. It’s not the stuff that “Happily Ever After” is made of.

Thankfully, I AM the stuff that Happily Ever After is made of… If only I allow myself to relax into this unassailable ISness. I suppose this is the hidden cheese, wrapped in the bitter pill of my life. Haha!

This morning, I’m writing to you from the Graceland fallout shelter. Snuggled amidst rubble, I nurse a large mason jar of bulletproof coffee. My favorite handmade (by me) lotus flower mug smashed on Giordano’s tile floor upon my return from my walkabout through the scapes of self-inflicted hell.

The next morning, I sliced through my ring finger with a dull knife during an agitated attempt to seed an avocado. It has been like this.

OMG. I took myself and my community on such a wild ride, post new moon, partial solar eclipse. Flames stoked by the alchemy of my choices, my shadow and the current astrological forecast raged and danced Shiva’s seemingly cruel, but ultimately loving dance inside and I couldn’t take it sitting still. Instead I wriggled and squirmed and cried out “ABUSE” of facebook, begging for money to return to California.

My desperate wish was granted with stunning abundance.

Then, as you saw in my last entry, the Master Puppeteer otherwise known as God Almighty, pulled some curious strings, and orchestrated another meeting between Giordano and I. Despite the sizable mess, there was still so much love.

I continued to stay at the archangel Dhuti’s house throughout our emotionally charged ReUnion. Despite the depth of love between him and I, the fire was still growling and throwing off occasional, dangerous sparks. Staying in her tiny, peaceful oasis was a luxury refugee vacation.

On our final day, as mischievously giggling Destiny would have it, was the meditation and breathing workshop of Manuela Forte. This had been scheduled for months, and Giordano helped organize it. I really wanted to meet Manuela, as she is a very pure channel of Light; an angel who has been holding and blessing Giordano and me (and Serena) and our collective healing journey.

We sat outside atop a great hill, beneath a regal and beneficent oak tree. Giordano’s mother was among the few attendees. As an aside, I am really struck by her. My life MUST be an epic novel… or God certainly would not people it with such stunningly vivid washes of color and depth of field. Raphaella is a strikingly small woman. But strong. The sort of strong fashioned by a life of hard knocks and victorious summits. Thin, wiry frame, slightly hunched back, adorned in consistently vivid colors. Thick, shoulder-length hair, strawberry blond from a bottle, but it seems an utterly natural expression of her profoundly creative essence. I imagine she has fought many battles alone (with God) and won a good few. Her love is fiery and unmistakable.

Upon completion of the workshop, my emotions were calmed. My heart soft. From this space, it was clear that I must stay in Italy. Manuela held me in a close embrace and spoke into the Beyond within my eyes as she reflected that she saw a young couple deeply in love. A family… And that this LAND has medicine for me. I know this is true. I feel a softly synergistic helix, elegantly twisting upward from my feet, through my crown as I walk upon Her soft, giving body. The dramatic, puffy clouds astound me, constantly. The humidity caresses me.

After the said post-eclipse “fallout”, a few people reflected to me that I really ought to take a pause on writing. Because I was obsessively pouring forth so much DRAMA into the virtual sphere of facebook. There was a deranged imbalance in my output. A compulsive quality. Perhaps it was time for me to retreat to a benevolent corner and just breathe.

I’m taking time out from facebook for a bit. But I’ll NEVER stop writing. Taking in Life and pouring out words is what I’m made for.

Joan told me to “take a fucking no bullshit look at what I’m actually committed to”… and I saw that using my writing gift to garner the riveting and cheap thrill of attention from friends on social media was at the top of the list. For this, I felt ashamed. For a flash, I was tempted to abandon my post as an astounded teller of the Story of my Life.

But here I am again. Telling with abandon. Passion gushing from my fingertips and saturating your own intimate cracks. That’s what I am for.

So here I am, wondering. Wondering what Life is asking of me now…. This frenzy of heavily carbonated, shaken energy that ‘sploded through me… has left me quite dismantled. Somewhat humbled. Too much “good advice” was flung my way. But Suzanne’s words stuck with me. She said get off the social media ferris wheel, which is a dead end road, keeping me semi-entertained and stuck. Work harder than I’ve ever worked before, to create stability, especially for my daughter.

Yes.

And.

Life keeps Life-ing…. And I’m not sure what to do. Into which groove do I pour myself? Do I humble myself once more and clean toilets, vacuum dirty floors and make mostly delicious soup as I did in Nevada City with a baby fixed to my hip? I imagined and hoped it was time to spread my wings and FLY. To write something worthwhile. To generate my online women’s circles. To boldly claim my genius. But now I’m back on my knees in the muddy rubble born of emotionally impulsive choices.

Obviously the FIRST order of business is to spend more time with God. Silence. Stillness. Breath. Humble Receptivity.

Feels like I was violently KO’d in a fight with my own self. A needless, masturbatory fight. I am still seeing birdies and stars. And even the world’s biggest swig of gatorade is not setting me straight.

Honestly, I believed sex would be my salvation. Maybe you don’t understand this… Many priestess types who serve to reconnect women with their sexual power say the same thing… that when we are connected with our Sex, we are connected with our Self.

Giordano and I have been OMing (orgasmic meditation) every day. I am starting to feel what Nicole Daedone means when she speaks of being “full”… And I am still confused.

I want to pour copious love on all my shadowed nooks and deep carved crannies and TRULY heal= return to love.

Romantic love is so misrepresented. Committing to Partnership is rigorous, grueling work. To show up every day and choose to let go again. Forgive (and laugh) even when you want to kill. Choose to be loved, when it seems way too compelling to close and punish.

On this virginal, dawning day, it is not the first words that I commit to the empty page that matter the most, it is the deeep, slow breath which precedes them. Said breath was essential, because the World inside me is so thick with vines, intricate root systems and underbrush…. My breath is my machete. Slicing to the heart of the jungle within.

Life never ceases to blow my mind… with its genius capacity to direct, orchestrate, inspire. Doors swinging open and slamming shut.

Ten days ago, I wrote you a love letter from hell…. Since then, I have been desperately groping at the cryptic, mystic contours of infinite space, where inner and outer environment swirl, bleed, blur… endeavoring to make “sense” of it…. find Due North… Discover a secret moonlit path that sings against my bare, sentient feet.

I have scattered fist-fulls of seeds into the wind… eager to discover which ones will, by God’s Grace-laden intelligence, nestle their way into fertile earth, and sprout into a new and clear direction. I made a profile on a dog walking/sitting website. Refreshed my profile on urbansitter (the local nanny-placement site). Offered my services of copy writing to heart-centered women entrepreneurs.

Almost nothing has come back to me. Except for a full time nanny gig next week, which pays less than I vowed I would give my time for. But I took it, because at this point, earning any money trumps making none. Look out ten hour days with Serena AND an energetic two and a half year old boy…. Here come the Graces!… God help us.

Something I need you to understand about me…. Is that this is how I grew up. At Serena’s age, my mom was “doing it alone” amidst the unsaybly expensive Bay Area hustle. For way too long, I hated her for making that choice. I thought it was totally dumb for her to choose the most expensive spot in California to settle and struggle daily to survive with a young child. This often involved leaving me in sketchy daycares and with babysitters who frightened me…. And sometimes leaving me alone too. Yes, even at age three, or maybe even two. (I forgive you Mom.)

Now Life has guided me back here to soften me with compassion and a deeper cut of insight regarding her choices. There is no place like the Bay Area. Marin in particular. So much creativity, consciousness, stunning natural beauty. My friend Samantha took us to the San Francisco zoo on thursday, and my soul *exploded* as we crossed the mythic Golden Gate Bridge, and then traversed the breath-giving coastline that led us to the literal edge of the World. Endless, white-waving ocean. Unlimited cool, vivifying air to drink deep of and seduce titillated skin. I could lose myself in descriptions of the specialness of this place that I was blessed to spend the weighty majority of my thirty eight years on planet earth. But I have too much more to say. Guess you’ll have to wait for the ebook. Haha.

My naive surface mind imagined that I was coming back to The Bay to step into deeper relationship/family with Ed. And that gave me enough solace and courage to leap as my Inner Being directed. But upon landing, I quickly (crushingly) realized this was not the case. Ed is still fiercely committed to his Other Life. We have only seen him twice in three weeks. I’m sure he would wish that I offered you his extremely valid justifications for this. But since Athena Graceland is MY domain, I shant. Instead, I will testify that I am delighted to be free this time, for what deeply feels to be “for realz”.

Back in January, I made a super-duper-neo-feminist birthday wish- to rise phoenix-goddess-style- in my own Dreams and Life- in abundance and success- and NEVER NEED/WANT A MAN TO SAVE ME AGAIN.

But now here I am flailing in the crushingly expensive and perversely indifferent currents of Bay Area economy… Desperately sewing seeds in the way of survival… and unflattering truth be told…. I could REALLY go for a Savior right about now.

Giordano.

I was sure that we were finished.

But HE wasn’t.

He has been unrelenting in his communication with me. Unwavering in his love and desire to be a family with me and Serena. And little by little, my defenses have eroded. Truth is, I mostly, I kept them intact for Ed. But the days of “for Ed” are dead.

On thursday, Giordano told me he was concerned for me. My flippant reply was “Haha you wanna save me?”….

“Sure. I will.”

At first, I only snickered.

But he was evocatively sincere.

So I put the option of taking Serena and flying to his pristine, sprawling, olive tree laden land in the hills above Assisi into the hopper and let it simmer with the rest of my sacred, illuminated mess.

My body still reverberates with sparkling desire when I think of him. As flawed as he is, his love and desire to be with me and Serena has NEVER wavered since we met in September of last year. Even after I locked him out of my house and left him high and not-so-dry in driving spring rain… Coldly endured the heart-bludgeoning music of him crying outside my door.

My Ma loved to imagine my life as an Opera. No, not a cheap-assed Soap Opera! A genuine, bonafide OPERA. And the artistic, elegant, heart-wrenching musical saga weaves ON.

I fear that Ed might throw daggers for me choosing to fly to Italy in August…. But… Fuck him. If he doesn’t want to create safety and sanctuary for “the love of his life” and his own daughter… Onwards and upwards.

I thought I was coming to the Bay Area to follow my dreams. To grow a business and BE SOMEBODY. But upon cruel meeting of rubber and road… suddenly it looks way more alluring to be held and supported as I care for my daughter with presenc and devotion. To ditch the concrete and wifi and chemically treated water and return to the pristine vibrance and bounty of Mother Earth. Night sky pulsing with unbounded spray of stars.

To go where Orgasmic Meditation and deep sex flow like wine and rivers.

And perhaps fulfill my dream of raising a bilingual child.

We’ll see. I’m getting us one way tickets. I could be back faster than a blink… or perhaps I’ll never leave. Life is a Goddamn Mystery, people!!!!

I find it utterly hilarious that I’m opting to be saved… after my bold birthday wish….

But #1~ Single parenting in this broken world is crushing. Plain and simple.

And #2~ Nothing is black and white. I will continue to walk my Path no matter what I choose. Continue to drench you with my heart-stained words… and offer my light and love to this world. But my daughter comes first.

Oh, and #3~ Giordano keeps invoking his dream of co-creating magic. Working together to build something of value for others in the way of Light.

Hello from the bowels of hell. It’s actually nice that they allow me write hOMe from down here. I wouldn’t have expected that. Hell gets such a bad rap. But it’s actually a pretty quiet place. Except for the jubilantly gurgling fish tank filter. They even have a profoundly soft sheepskin rug for me to sit on. It’s almost like a cheap knock-off of Heaven down here.

Gosh, I thought I was in hell… maybe I should look at a map before I open my big fat mouth and announce shit on the internet.

I woke up grinding myself down in fear and worry of an imaginary and tragic, not-so-distant-future. A future where I too quickly run out of money… have no way to make more… no inner, nor outer reSource to make my Dreams come true. It’s fuckin bleak. Plus, I have an incredible, wildly deserving child that I am accountable for. The skewed puzzle of Existence-As-I-Know-It, is not adding up in my mind.

Something woke me at 3am. At 3:50, I got out of bed… imagining that I’d have extra bonus time to infuse my mind with great books and make love with my cup of tea… but instead I cried too much to even be able to sip from my steaming cup of luscious, caffienated love.

Now I am forgoing my unsayably delectable yoga practice, because I HAVE to write this shit down. It’s just too bizarre. One of those nightmares you wake up from drenched in sweat, heart pounding… sooo glad to be awake…. But the images and feelings are burned so deep in your body-mind that it takes some serious will power to undo from its gouging shackles.

The mind. Wild that it can dance between heaven and hell in a single flirtatious blink of Goddess’s shimmering, infinite eye.

It’s actually kinda cool… to abide in the space where Rubber and Road merge, mingle and masticate. I mean that’s when we REALLY get to bump and grind with the untainted honesty of what we are made of.

Or not.

I’m made of Light and Love and Hella Special Sauce.

But I’m not feeling like it.

What I’m driving at, is that lofty spiritual concepts fly out the window when Life has you in a headlock, your soft cheek pressed against gritty pavement. Before the genius notion to pound my glorious terror out upon willing keys arose, I perched on a sexy, red suede couch, marinating in sacred, terrifying aloneness, crying plump, juicy tears, hurling hateful words at Ed… like how I wish we’d never met, and that I’d kill myself if it wasn’t for Beautiful Serena.

Isn’t that horrible?

I just can’t get my head around how I imagined I was moving in the direction of my Dreams by leaving Ananda. Now that I am here in outrageously expensive, excessively paved Marin County, I feel totally destabilized and incapable of birthing my Visionary and Delectable women’s video circles.

Maybe I should jump tracks and pour myself into my Podcast, “Get Naked With Athena”…

Nobody has signed up for my upcoming webinar. Go figure. I have been drowning in fear and despair. Not exactly alluring, to say the least.

BUT I CAN WRITE. I can pour my deranged, haunted-fun-house-mirror feelings and injured-though-fiercly-determined=racehorse-mind all over the page and THIS is my freedom. THIS is my heaven amidst the self-imposed hell that I am back-stroking through.

And I CAN BREATHE. As deeep as I wanna. That’s raw, pure Grace. Mmmmm…. I looove to breathe.

At the heart of the heart, this is what I LIVE for. To write this boggling existence down. For posterity’s sake.

I’m watching, awestruck as my sense of self unravels. I really don’t know if I know a damn thing. Before Serena came along, I thought I was this high and mighty preacher of the Good Word. I dreamt I was a know-it-all, spiritual badass. But honestly, as another dawn illuminates this jagged, perplexing world, and I type my heart and soul out upon the page as though my Life depends on it….

I feel like desperate emptiness dreaming hollow, haunted dreams.

Breathing.

Wondering….

Wondering what my Life is REALLY for.

Beneath the fever dreams of ego and false salvation.

God will show me the Way.

I pray that I can be good

for Beloved Serena today.

And hey…

Beloved Me, too.

Even though SHE

Is harder to see.

And God, please take away this self-hatred that I didn’t even realize was in me…. Until I stumbled, mostly sober, into this illusory wing of hell. Let me be Empty.

Hey God, I need to talk to you. I know you’re listening… even if my own BEing is too much of a perpetual chaotic swirl to hear or feel you listening, let alone responding. But just knowing that you are listening is ENOUGH.

I’m scared today, God. Can you refresh my memory as to WHY you are sending me and Serena back into the expensiver than Thou, outrageously chaotic, painfully paved, relentless traffic, screaming wifi lands of the Bay Area?

Because I wanted to go? Is it THAT simple? Never. And Who infused me with said want, anyway? Maybe we should have waited until October. When the first hints of chill creep back into the air, and the Enchanted Yuba River no longer lures with the same siren song…. Shouldn’t we have spent one more summer nestled in the verdant, jungly folds of Balarama’s “Prana Gardens”, plucking sun-warmed, candy-sweet cherry tomatoes from their vine? And what about those shiny, black, bursting berries that Serena and I have been dreaming of with every rain…. Imagining the blessed water soaking into the earth, being voraciously slurped by aggressively purposeful roots who prepare in secret to bust out the sweetes, most resplendent little jewels.

No, actually being able to earn enough money to survive (but God, I’d waaay rather THRIVE) there is my greatest fear. And yes, I know it’s not “spiritually hip” to run on and on about fears. But I’m over being spiritually hip. I just want you to hear me and LOVE me, God. And reassure me that you won’t drop me. Ever. And if I fall, you’ll pick me up and hold me closer than ever. That’s what a Mother does for her child.

I want community. I have plenty of friends, all the fuck over the Bay Area…. But good Lord… how much expensive fossil fuel will I have to burn in my ancient, twenty-two-miles-to-the-gallon little Subaru, “Venus Ray”, if I want to bask and bathe in the grace of everyone’s luminous company?

Will you help me make friends in my neighborhood? Not that I’m tossing the oldies but goodies aside… just seeking calm, rejuvenative balance in my Life.

A recurring image flashes in my mind’s eye when I’m reflecting on my Path…. I see myself blindfolded, in total darkness… groping about the contours of my environment… feeling for doors and windows… seeking one that opens when I exert focused will.

And when I find an opening, I know it is my Destiny to be brave and step across the Threshold, into the mysterious world therein.

The door into my new Life* in the Bay Area flung the fuck open for me. No questions asked. Within less than a week of declaring my intention to leap… it was like “Yeah Bitch*, walk on through!” So…

This Royal Bitch is walking on through. Trust-walking. But not without a shadowed underbelly of apprehension.

And now for a few words on Bitch* and Life*.

I like the word “Bitch”, because it is evocative. Too often, it gets a bad rap. It is construed as a wicked insult to women. But that’s so thoughtlessly mainstream, if you ask me. Deep within every woman, lives a bitch. Fierce, venomous and unapologetic. But we have been domesticated to the point of near apocalypse. We have been programmed to dull our own swords, walk in straight lines and keep our legs pressed together. We have been hypnotized to fear and reject our own dimensionally vivifying, evocative and intelligent shadows. Fuck that.

And LIFE. To me, “Life” and “God” are synonyms. Life is God’s profound, undulating body. Life is how we touch, feel, know God. And therefore, our Selves. Sure, God’s Queendom of Infinity extends Beyond all that which is that which we know as Life. But if you think about it, LIFE itself stretches Beyond that which we “know” as Life….

Can I truly REST inside the God-ness that IS this Life I AM?

As I posed that fluorescent, flame-dancing question, I became immediately present to tension in my body. The tension of bracing myself against the Unknown. Bracing myself against the inevitability of the death of my body. And in a flash was the knowing that trust emerges in a single mOMent, as the willingness to RELAX, surrender all tension.

Oh, I’m celebrating this Revelation with a deeeeep breath!!!

God, thank you for Being Here. For Listening. For breathing me. For filling me with just enough wisdom and insight to navigate THIS MOMENT. That’s plenty.

You know how “They” say to live each mOMent like it’s your last… It’s a totally cool idea. But mostly it doesn’t work. (Haha, unless I need an excuse to be super impulsive with money!) In my default mode, I imagine the Journeys I am inside of will sprawl on forever. (Oh, except for the PTSD I’ve developed around sudden loss of people who matter the most in my heart…)

But suddenly, the taste of Impermanence dances on my tongue.

I have eleven days left here at Ananda. On the twelfth day, me and the two most important men in my life (little bro and baby daddy) will caravan outa this spiritual utopia, cars and truck brimming with “stuff”. (As a cosmic gypsy, “stuff” mostly occurs like a boulder in my Ugg boot. But I’ve ditched my art supplies and then suddenly been accosted by the NEED to make art.. And then had no choice but to blow my cash wad on a fresh set of eyeball burning colors of acrylic paint… enough times to feel slightly more sober about what I choose to slog along on my semi-intentional Walk About on Planet Earth.)

Ahem, so in twelve days, mine and Serena’s entire World will change. I’ll probably hear traffic through my bedroom window, and I won’t be able to see every calmly seductive star in the multiverse, when I step outside in the deep, dark morning.

For two and a half years, I’ve cried myself to sleep, missing the vast, wild, melodically roaring Ocean. But yesterday at the Yuba River, I realized that in twelve days, I will have no fewer (figurative) tears. The River had pervaded my soul and I will ache in Her absence. If you’ve never met Mama Yuba, She is evocatively bracing, steadily singing, rushing crystaline aqua Love. Endlessly generous, she tirelessly resets your cells to their natural state of reverberating Hallelujah. She suckles your worries, concerns and delusions, as if they were the sweetest milk, ecstatically sweeping them to the winking heart of Oblivion.

I want to run to Her and throw myself IN. Merge with her wild beauty and stay Forever. I can see why my Dan chose to die at the streaming hands of a River….

But now salt and sand and crashing waves will be my Salvation. Negative ions drenching my aura and making me drunk and Restored.

I confess that I groped for the EXIT the entire time I was here at Ananda. Feeling confined and isolated. Wait, am I speaking of my time at Ananda, or my whole entire Life? (It’s interesting to exist in the time of smartphones, because emojis have pervaded my alphabet. I think not only in letters, but also goofy little faces. I had an urge to insert the smiling face with squinted eyes, squirting tears.)

How come it takes me so fucking long to get to the Meat of my heart and thoughts? I guess because I must pierce their Skin first. The Meat is that I cried at family kirtan on Friday, because it finally hit me what I was about to lose. A few years ago, a bunch of souls decided to incarnate together and meet up at Ananda. Serena was one of them. They’ve been together since day one. And even though I have felt to be an Outsider, the Ananda families have embraced and cared for us through very challenging times.

Even though I don’t feel free to spit and swear and talk about sex with *most* of the other moms, I love them and they love me.

And now I shall burst your bubble of endearing naivety with sobering news:

LIFE IS TOTALLY IMPERFECT.

Can I just totally jump tracks? YES, Athena, this is YOUR Queendom of Concealed Heaven, and you are free to express anything and everything!!! Oh cool, because I really need to confess and digest my recent webinar! Overall, I’m totally proud of myself. It was my first EVER and I gave it my ALL.

At the end of the day, that’s what it’s all about…

Giving it ALL.

Even though tragedy struck and Zoom suddenly demanded money, right the fuck NOW and then cut me off twenty minutes before the scheduled hour was complete, I still came away with a feeling of exhilaration and healthy pride, that stayed with me the rest of the day. I was SURE that I had made it into the territory of Light That Possesses No Shadow.

But then, when the webinar guests didn’t show up in the secret facebook group that I created as a space for everyone to share a three minute video revealing where they have been hiding…. My party bus crashed into a glistening desert mirage. I posted a vid first, to open the way, and model the culture of raw, joyful authenticity. Only my dear friend watched and commented. The other three women blinked out of existence, and I was left to sit alone and feel through the underbelly of my pride and invulnerability.

In my video I shared how “up until now” (insert mocking emoji face), I had been easily stopped by Perfectionism. But stepping into leadership, webinars and circle facilitation had opened a portal into newfound freedom to be a beginner, fuck up, and be at the bottom of a massive, mountainous learning curve.

Interesting to watch myself. As soon as I realized that (almost) nobody gave a fuck what I had to say, my inner Perfectionist swooped in to “save the day”. Meaning shut me down, so that I wouldn’t have to feel through unsavory emotions such as shame, humiliation and the deep vulnerability of being accountable for my Passion.

Juicy, right?!

At first, I was EN FUEGO to schedule and plan my next webinar… but then, said dark emotions and thoughts swooped in…. old familiar voices began to resound in my head… The militant dictator, fondly known as “Royal Fuck It”, started to take charge and bark orders.

Oh. My. Goodness.

Naturally, the only option is to KEEP MOVING FORWARD. Though it certainly IS mighty gracious of Her Holiness, Royal Fuck It, to be so invested in protecting me from unsavory feelings. (insert batting eyelash emoji)

I’m not sure if the voice in my head who is hissing for me not to write is my God Self, or a garden variety demon… My guess is that God doesn’t hiss. So I’m gonna cross the flaming threshold and commit these mostly innocent words to the page. I think it’s just my ego, who is frightened that it doesn’t see a clear stream of softly rushing thoughts to merge with and swim gracefully down the gaping mountain of my Existence. This is one of those moments when being a writer is quietly terrifying. When telling my story entails the risk of portraying others in unflattering light… and while I’m all for shameless, unsettling honesty…. I really don’t relish throwing others under the psychedelic, second-generation hippy bus.

So let me just say, it didn’t work out with Giordano. Period. I hear a mouse in the attic. I hope I move out of this house before the day comes when it climbs down into my wing of Graceland, poops all over everything and requires a cruel and unusual death by peanut butter enticed beheadment. Ugh. I think I’ve killed five of them in the two and a half years I’ve been here. I guess I have a ways to go before I arrive in the Buddha-Christ wing of Heaven.

Ahem. Actually it was a train wreck with my beloved Italian Stallion. The fallout left me raw and trembling on the inside for days. Feeling broken down and humbled, ready to join a twelve step program and get a therapist. I’m serious. No shame. The experience served to illuminate some of my deepest, darkest wounds. But the good news is, I’m ready to heal. And the other good news is that I’m doing my best not to make it mean that I’m not good enough to step forward and serve women and be a light unto the world.

I can feel that voice “hissing” (must not be God) inside me. “Who do I think I AM to step out and be a leader… when I’m so fucked up and imperfect. But the gorgeous thing is that THIS is precisely my message to women. That we must not hide out in the shadows and cracks, waiting until we’re airbrushed and stick-thin to step out and share our music and magic and medicine. NOW IS THE TIME. Even and especially if we’re in twelve step programs or…. ahhhhhh the mouse sounds like it’s chewing through something. Fuck.

Another hidden gift laced into this unsayably painful drama, is that our collision of hearts ricocheted me into action around moving. Moving house I mean. My appetite for a new life has been waxing for too many moon cycles. Living folded anonymously into the “woulds” (I “would” step out and be BOLD… If only I was _______ enough….) was starting to feel like a prison sentence. But the thought of stepping back into the rushing river of culturally rich madness that is the Bay Area was a terrifying notion. And where else would I go? I am connected in the Bay Area. And the OCEAN…. (insert sparkly, pulsing heart emoji here) But suddenly my thirst for aliveness and connection and evolution has eclipsed my suffocating grip on the need for comfort and safety. I’m ready to trade my peaceful, charming one bedroom palace for a more expensive nine by twelve bedroom in the enlivening white water flow of roaring urbania.

But The Merciful Lord doth stationed me in San Raphael (Marin County). A milder entry into said roaring urbania than the East Bay would have been. And with the Archangel Karen- a friend of eighteen years. Actually… once upon a time, we were more than friends. We were The Kourage Family…. Missiz and Missiz Kourage. Then we adopted our son, “Sonala”, who Karen soon married, and eventually created a daughter with. It was a very artistic, mythic, greek style family unit, which organically grew over time. But we were the nucleus. If I remember correctly, it really fell apart when I left my fiancé, “Moonwalker Kourage” for another man. Karen adored Moonwalker. Naturally. He was and is “adorable”. And I ran off and rebelled against “comfy” and “safe”… took up mini skirts and wine and sex work! Haha.

Fast forward ten years, and we are commencing a Kourage Family ReUnion of sorts. But this time, sadly, Sonala is not invited, and we each have a daughter. Kourages yet to be named!!!

I got all swept away on the wings of my epic tale… and I forgot to mention the intense and immense heartache I have been slogging through since the forever untold Legend of Giordano. It began two days before the scorpio full moon. Doctor Blanco yanked out my infected, root-canaled gold molar, while I sobbed uncontrollably in the reclining, slippery tan chair.

Honestly, if I had a nickel for every time some new-agey astrology report touted that our deepest wounds were surfacing for illumination and healing…. BUT THIS WAS REAL. The DEEPEST FUCKING WOUNDS. I’m talkin’ about twelve-step-style wounds. Since this fiercest of ripe, dripping moons, I’ve been living in a state of washed-out, unnamable fear and anxiety.

Of course I have a bazillion philosophies about the nature and origin of this krushing fear, including the upheaval with Giordano, my impending move, my imminent leap into visibility, leadership and soul-satisfying career SUCCESS via my online women’s video circles (www.sourcedcircles.com)….

AND my personal favorite– Being deeply attuned and sensitive to “The Collective”. Lemme ask YOU– Have YOU been feeling through deep, dark, inexplicable fear lately? I mean, I don’t pay attention to the news or current events. But I am a profoundly sensitive “feeler”, and the global climate usually broadcasts as waves of energy that move through me. I’m pretty sure my thankless, freelance side-job is to feel through and LOVE the collective feelings that others are too scared to touch with a crusty stick.

FINALLY!!!!! The broken systems of the Patriarchy are actually crumbling…. Not just threatening to crumble “one of these days”. The World As We Know It is coming undone. And we must resist the temptation to over-identify with the Brokenness…

We must step forward as our Perfectly Imperfect Selves…. Be the leaders, change-makers, seed-planters of The New World. I know you know which one I’m talking about… The one that your heart is incessantly whispering about and entirely believes in. The world where Unity of All Life is glaringly obvious, and we boldly and passionately live our Light for the wellbeing of ALL.

Please remind me of this Visionary Proclamation, when I am standing naked in the floodlights of visibility, knees knocking as I call out to women everywhere to join my circles and raise each other UP as we co-create a nourishing, turned-ON culture of authenticity, vulnerability, pleasure and connection which will naturally deliver our World to the Heaven it’s meant to BE.